Flowers for the Kommandant
by dust on the wind
Summary: It doesn't take much to open the door to forgotten things, and Wilhelm Klink has no idea how a friendship from the past is about to influence his future. Cautionary note - Chapter 2 contains some strong language.
1. Chapter 1

_I do not own any of the characters from the series Hogan's Heroes. However, I claim ownership of any original characters appearing in this story._

* * *

It had seemed as if winter would never end, but spring had sprung at last, and the inmates of Stalag 13 were making the most of the sunshine, punctuated as it was by sudden cloudbursts.

The English prisoners, and their fellow citizens of the empire on which (according to rumour) the sun never set, had even tried to get a cricket match going, filling in gaps in the teams with whoever they could draft in, no matter what nationality. But some of the players had trouble grasping the rules, and it took so long to convince Zilinsky that "leg before wicket" meant he was out, that they only completed three overs - whatever that meant - before rain stopped play.

The showers had cleared by late afternoon, and a watery golden sunset glow welcomed the return of Kommandant Klink from a meeting in Hammelburg.

Colonel Hogan, leaning against the wall of Barracks 2 with a couple of his men, watched as the staff car pulled up at the steps of the Kommandant's office. Sergeant Schultz, being nearest to hand, hurried to open the car door for the Kommandant, and to his surprise was presented with a bunch of flowers.

A suppressed sniggering could be heard coming from the vicinity of Corporals Newkirk and LeBeau.

Schultz remained still, gazing at the bouquet as if he thought it was about to grow teeth and bite him, while the Kommandant alighted, and handed Schultz his briefcase. "Take them to my quarters," he commanded. Then, as the sergeant continued to stand as if mesmerised: "_Now_, Schultz."

"Nice flowers, Kommandant," observed Hogan, strolling up to them. "Are they a present from General Burkhalter? I didn't know he cared that much."

"Thank you, Hogan," replied Klink. He was trying for irony, but missed the mark. In spite of his best efforts, he could not help looking pleased with himself. "Schultz, _go_."

"Not from the General? Oh, sir - you've been seeing someone behind his back. I'm shocked."

"It's nothing like that at all, Hogan. And it's none of your business."

"Oh, go on, sir. Spill the beans," said Hogan. "You know you want to."

Klink glanced around, and lowered his voice confidentially. "They came from a young lady, in Hammelburg," he whispered, half embarrassed and half bursting with pride.

Hogan's eyes widened. "You have a young lady friend in Hammelburg?"

"No, Hogan. I've never seen her before. She just gave them to me in the street," Klink replied, beaming.

"Well, you old charmer," drawled Hogan. "It must be the military bearing. I'm sure I'd find it irresistible, if I were a girl."

Klink appeared unsure whether to take the remark as a compliment or not. He decided to accept it on face value. "Thank you, Hogan," he said. Then he turned, and sauntered into his office.

Hogan went back to the barracks, and leaned against the wall. LeBeau and Newkirk were still loitering, like a pair of schoolboys.

"Where'd you get the flowers?" asked Hogan, after a while.

The pair looked at each other.

"It's spring," said LeBeau at last. "The woods are full of them."

"And the girl?"

"Brigitta," replied Newkirk. "Friend of mine."

"She will do anything for him," added LeBeau.

"Yeah, I know," sighed Hogan. "They all will." He made a mental note to have a few words with Newkirk, some time soon; this constant attention to the local females was going to get him into trouble one of these days. "And whose idea was it?"

Each of them waited for the other to speak. Finally, Newkirk murmured, "Well, it was just a bit of fun, sir. It's been a long winter, you know."

So it was Newkirk's idea. Of course it was.

"Okay, it was funny," said Hogan, at last. "But don't do it again."

The Kommandant frequently found his evenings dull. He ate dinner, alone; took a glass of cognac and a cigar, alone; read any correspondence or newspapers, alone. Sometimes he was tempted to ask Colonel Hogan to join him, but there were issues of protocol, not to speak of discipline.

One could always read, of course, but Klink was not a great reader, and the German classics, which every good German officer was expected to have read, always seemed so - well, so _German_. And as for _Mein Kampf_, one didn't admit it, not ever, not even to oneself, but Klink had never actually got past page seven.

Sheer boredom drove him this evening to pick up _Das __Schwäbische _Mädchen. When the story palled, which didn't take very long, he fell to gazing at the flowers. Schultz had put them into a large crystal jug, and set them in the middle of the dining table. The result was quite decorative; apparently Schultz had unexpected skills in flower arranging. But, being wildflowers, they didn't take kindly to being stuffed into a jug. The sturdiest ones were putting up with it, but some of the more delicate blooms were wilting.

Most of them were quite common, and familiar even to a man whose acquaintance with flora was fairly restricted. One of them caught his eye, a small bell-shaped flower, pale yellow in colour, on a narrow, drooping stem. He picked it up to look more closely; he had no idea what it was called, but he thought he had seen it before, long ago...

_"__Oh, Willi, don't be such a girl," said Marie._

He had not thought of Marie for years.

* * *

After lunch on their first day at the little mountain resort town, Mamma sent Willi off to play with the other children who were staying at the Hotel Excelsior, while she rested after the long train journey.

The other children took advantage of the opportunity, and pushed Willi into the shallow end of the duck pond in the park.

On account of that, Frau Klink decided the other children were not suitable playmates, and told Willi not to have anything more to do with them.

Willi had been ill recently; very ill indeed. Perhaps not as seriously as he liked to imagine - Willi could turn a sniffle into a case of bubonic plague - but certainly unwell enough to make the usual family holiday to the Baltic coast inadvisable.

"It's perhaps a little too bracing for a convalescent, so early in the season," the doctor had said.

Mamma was a trifle put out. She'd already bought her new bathing outfit, and thought Willi might have had a bit more consideration. Not that he had caught diphtheria on purpose, of course; it was just Willi's usual bad luck.

"But he needs a change of air," she had replied plaintively. Meaning, of course, that she needed one herself, never mind about Willi.

"Then take him to the mountains," was the doctor's reply.

So here they were, Frau Klink and her son, at the pretty little village of Rosenthal, while Father (nobody ever dared call him Pappa) and Wolfgang had gone to the coast, as planned.

And it was simply awful, or so Willi thought. There was nothing for him to do, except to skulk about, avoiding the juvenile gangsters in case they decided in favour of the deep end of the pond next time.

All that changed on the third day.

The new arrival was a very elegant lady indeed, with a very elegant daughter in tow. She gave her name as "Madame Taufert", as if everyone would know who she was; and if anyone didn't, they were not going to admit it.

Willi was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, a good tactical position for a quick escape in case the boy with the striped jersey came into view. He stared at the lady, and then at the daughter, a fair-haired, delicately pretty child, a little younger than him. She was looking about with interest, and when she caught his eye, she gave him a slow, mischievous smile. And a wink. He was almost sure she winked.

Madame turned to follow the porter to her room, and her eye fell on Frau Klink, who had just returned from a brisk morning walk.

"Oh, my dear!" exclaimed Madame, her eyes lighting up. "Of all the delightful surprises! I had no idea I would find you here."

Frau Klink, brought up short, blinked in astonishment as she found herself enfolded in a fragrant embrace. "I beg pardon, _meine Dame..._" she began.

"Don't you remember? It's me - Adélie. Surely you can't have forgotten."

Desperately attempting to recover, Frau Klink managed a weak smile. "Of course I remember. We met at..."

Madame's face fell. "You don't remember. My dear, I am devastated. How can you have forgotten such an old friend?" She took Frau Klink's arm, and began to walk her towards the elevator. This contraption was only newly installed, and Frau Klink had so far refused to set foot in it, but under the compulsion of Madame's arm, she went along, frantically searching her memory.

The daughter followed dutifully, but she gave Willi another smile as she passed the stairs. And another wink; no doubt about it this time.

By lunchtime, Madame Taufert and Frau Klink were inseparable, and Marie had been approved as an acceptable playfellow. And Willi, for whom the highest level of adventure was taking off his scarf as soon as Mamma's back was turned, didn't know what had hit him. This dainty, sweet-faced little girl knew no fear whatsoever. Within two hours, she had walked, with her eyes closed, along the top of the high brick wall at the back of the hotel courtyard. Then she dared the boy in the striped jersey to do the same.

"Willi can do it," she informed him, in a cool, scornful voice. And she made Willi do it, to prove he could. After that, the boy in the jersey had to try, or lose face with the crowd. He fell off, hurt his knee and blubbered like a baby. From then on, Willi was one step up from the bottom of the pack. It was a new experience for him, and he'd never been happier.

They didn't spend all their time with the others, though. Early one morning, Willi was awakened from a deep sleep, to find Marie standing beside the bed, shaking him. "Time to get up," she said. "I want to go exploring."

"It's not even light yet," complained Willi, peering out of the window.

"That's the best time of day. Come on, Willi, I can't go on my own. It's not ladylike."

"Mamma won't let me," he protested feebly.

"She won't know. We can go out of the window. That's how I got in." She gave a wicked chuckle.

She would accept no refusal, and soon, after an undignified scramble down a rickety trellis, she and Willi were racing across the park, past the duck pond and into the fields beyond. First light was breaking from behind the cold white peaks, and a chill of morning dew lay over the ground.

Willi was not happy. "I'm not supposed to let my feet get wet," he grumbled petulantly.

"Oh, Willi, don't be such a girl," said Marie, with a giggle. "Come on, let's go to the woods and see what's there."

For an hour, in the clean bright light of morning, they roamed the edges of the forest, climbing over fences, scaring up birds from the undergrowth, throwing twigs into the stream to see how fast the water was running. There were early spring flowers in the border between the forest and the fields, frail little yellow blossoms which faded within minutes after they were picked. By unspoken agreement they left them alone.

Willi remembered every detail of that morning, long after he and Mamma had returned home, because it was the same day when everything came crashing down. He wasn't an observant child, but he could not fail to notice, when he came down to join Mamma in the _Speisesaal _for lunch, that she seemed upset. No, not just upset; Mamma was absolutely livid. She had received a letter from her husband, and she clutched it so tightly that the ink was coming off the page and leaving dark streaks on her fingers.

Whenever Mamma was in a temper, it was best not to say anything, so Willi didn't.

He brightened as Marie and her mother came in, anticipating that Madame would sit to lunch with Frau Klink, as she had most days. At least he would have Marie to talk to. But before Madame could approach, Mamma rose abruptly and went forward to meet her.

Willi couldn't hear the conversation, but he could see Mamma no longer considered Madame in the light of a bosom friend. In fact, she looked as if she hated her. She said a few short words, with a twist of the lips, and handed Madame the letter from her husband. Madame's face went scarlet as she read it. She looked up at Frau Klink, answered her briefly, then beckoned to Marie to follow, and left the dining room.

"You are not to speak to that girl again, Wilhelm," said Mamma coldly, as she returned to the table.

Madame and her daughter left Rosenthal by the evening train, and Mamma never mentioned them again. Willi never did find out what information had been disclosed in Father's letter; the holiday ended, he returned with Mamma to Leipzig, and Marie became nothing more than a memory, bright and vivid for some time, but gradually fading from sight, disappearing into the dim mental cabinet of things forgotten.

Until the sight of those little yellow flowers brought her back out into the light.

The Kommandant sighed, and laid his book aside. He was in no mood for literature tonight. For a moment, he hesitated; then he got up suddenly, and put on his coat and hat, but not his scarf, and went outside.

It was many years since his morning excursion with Marie. Now he felt like exploring again. He strode to the front gate, past the guards, and went into the fringes of the woods, to see what was there.

* * *

Note:_ Das __ Schwäbische _ Mädchen, by Lorenz Riemenschneider - this book does not exist. Neither does the author. This is probably just as well.


	2. Chapter 2

Spring gave way to summer; the flowers now in bloom were larger and brighter. The heat grew oppressive, wearing on the bodies and tempers of both prisoners and guards. Kommandant Klink had given up his occasional evening walks along the edge of the woods. Too many mosquitoes, he said.

This came as a relief to Hogan and his crew. Klink's forays outside the wire had become an inconvenience, making their own excursions just a little riskier. Carter had come within moments of detection one night, when the Kommandant came into view just as he was exiting the emergency tunnel; and there had been several occasions when one or other of the men had been forced to lurk behind the bushes for an hour or more, while Klink sat nearby contemplating the moon, or whatever it was he was doing.

"He needs to get his leg over," was Newkirk's opinion. It was an unusually forthright statement, even for him, but although none of the others would have expressed it quite so bluntly, they all agreed the suggestion had merit.

"We could maybe arrange something," suggested LeBeau; but Hogan vetoed the idea at once.

"We're not going into that line of business," he said firmly, and that was that.

The business they did engage in continued to prosper. The operation was well established now, and most missions went pretty well as planned, although sometimes a degree of improvisation was required. Hardly surprising, given the constraints of place and time; well, there was a war on.

The latest instructions from London suggested the next major assignment would be a little less strenuous than usual, as Hogan explained in the briefing. "Some time in the next few days, Klink will have a visit from someone - who, we don't yet know. At some stage, this visitor will find a way to pass a microfilm to us. We then forward it on by the usual delivery service."

The team - the regular team - had crowded into Hogan's office; four of them gathered around the desk, while Newkirk leaned back against the bunk. He was a little more cynical, a little more morose, and a little more war-weary than he had been at the beginning of spring. There had been an incident with a woman, just as Hogan had anticipated. Nobody had any sympathy with him over it.

"What's on the microfilm, Colonel?" asked Carter.

"Top secret, Carter," the colonel replied. "Whatever it is, they're not even telling us. We don't look at it, we just send it on." He spoke quite sharply. Just like everyone else, the continuing sultry weather was getting to him

Carter hunched his shoulders. "I only asked," he muttered.

"How are we going to know who the contact is?" asked LeBeau.

"He'll identify himself," replied Kinch. "The recognition code is _Perpignon_."

"Oh, that'll be easy to work into the conversation," remarked Newkirk sourly.

"Well, it's not like we get so many visitors here," said Carter. "So I guess whoever it is, it won't be that hard to pick him out."

Fate decided to mess around with them. That day saw the visit of a medical team doing routine checks on the general health of the prisoners; the Kommandant of Stalag 4, passing through on his way to Düsseldorf; one of General Burkhalter's aides, who delivered a new code book; and Major Hochstetter of the Gestapo. In the following days the camp received a Red Cross delegation on an inspection tour; the commanding officer of the 3rd Panzer Division, with his subaltern; Hochstetter again, twice; General Burkhalter himself, accompanied by his sister Gertrude; and the Kommandant of Stalag 4 on his way back from Düsseldorf. And that wasn't counting couriers, delivery trucks and the regular garbage collection.

"We should set up a pie wagon in the middle of the compound," observed Newkirk irritably, as they waited in the barracks for lights out. "We'd make a bloody fortune. It's like Hyde Park Corner out there. And we've got another bleedin' general tomorrow, Schultz says. Some SS big shot - General Staremberg, I think he said. Never heard of the bloke."

"Yes, you have."

The reply came from Kinch, in a voice which caused every man in the barracks to fall silent, and turn to look at him. The expression on his face was so cold, so utterly bleak, that Carter involuntarily retreated a few steps. Nobody dared say a word.

"Kinch?" It was Hogan who finally broke the silence. He'd never seen his right-hand man looking like this.

Kinch looked up at him, then turned his gaze towards Newkirk. "Mahndorf," he said, very softly. Newkirk stared at him, his own expression slowly changing from incomprehension to disbelief.

"That was him?" whispered LeBeau.

Kinch didn't respond. Without a word, he got up and went to the bunk which stood over the tunnel.

The hush continued for a few moments after the entrance had closed behind him. Some of the men were exchanging bewildered glances; others - the ones who had been here longest - obviously knew what the reference meant. Carter was clearly perplexed, but LeBeau looked as if he had been suddenly taken ill, while Newkirk was breathing deeply, his gaze fixed on the tabletop and his eyebrows drawn together. Hogan looked from one to the other.

"Would someone like to explain?" he asked.

Newkirk and LeBeau glanced at each other. "Before your time, Colonel," said Newkirk slowly. His voice was very low, but nobody had any difficulty hearing him. "It was not long after Kinch first got here. We heard about it from a couple of blokes transferred in from Stalag 8. They'd had a mass escape, a few weeks before. Nine of them were recaptured near Mahndorf, by an SS patrol."

He stopped short, and looked at LeBeau again. The Frenchman shook his head."_Je peux pas_," he muttered, and pressed his lips together. He wasn't sick; he simply couldn't trust himself to speak. Newkirk drew another full breath before he continued.

"Five of them were sent back to Stalag 8. The SS shot the other four." He paused for a moment, then added, "The four they shot were black."

A choking gasp came from Carter. It was the only sound in the barracks.

"Staremberg?" said Hogan at last.

Newkirk spread his hands. "I never heard the name, but I know Kinch got as much information about it as he could. If he says Staremberg's the one that ordered it..."

"And how come this is the first I've heard of it?" There was a dangerous glint in Hogan's eyes.

Newkirk looked away, and shook his head. After a few seconds, Hogan answered the question himself. "No official report. No records. No evidence. Right?"

"Only hearsay. And at the time, we had no way to get the story out." Newkirk glanced up. "By the time we did, the prisoners from Stalag 8 had been moved on, so we couldn't follow it up."

"But you believe it happened."

"_Mon Colonel_, one of the men who was there told us about it," said LeBeau. "If you'd heard him...There can be no doubt. It happened, just as he said."

"Did Schultz mention what Staremberg is coming here for?" asked Hogan, after a moment.

"Courtesy visit. The SS are running a training exercise, just the other side of Meilenheim. As it's in Klink's area, he gets an official visit to notify him of it." Newkirk's expression hardened, his eyes narrower and his jaw firm. "Any chance we could take care of him, while he's here?"

Hogan didn't reply directly. "I better go talk to Kinch," he said quietly, and headed for the tunnel.

He found Kinch by the radio, his elbows resting on the table, hands supporting his forehead, as if he had a headache that wouldn't go away. Hogan didn't speak, but leaned against one of the roof supports, waiting.

Eventually, Kinch sighed. "All the shit we put up with," he said wearily. "The way they look at us, the way they talk to us, all of it. You get over that. No, you don't get over it, but you get used to it. You let it go, because you can't fight it out every minute of every day. But something like this..."

"Yeah. I know."

"I don't think you do, Colonel. You have to live with it to get it." Kinch was silent for a moment. "Sorry. I know how lucky I am - all of us - to be here, with you in charge. Even with Klink as Kommandant. You know, for all he's what he is, one thing you have to give him credit for. He's never treated anyone as if they were second-class."

"A monster, but an impartial one." Hogan came over to lean on the desk. "What do we know about Staremberg?"

"Not a lot. Career military, transferred to the SS in 1938. He's come up the ranks pretty fast. Has an interest in eugenics; he's written discussion papers on the subject. I've never read them, but I hear his main arguments are in favour of forced sterilisation of non-Aryans, and of drowning children of mixed marriages at birth."

"Nice." Hogan's expression didn't change, but Kinch knew him well enough to be aware of the cold fury below the surface.

"Colonel, we know about Mahndorf," Kinch went on. "But we don't know - and there's no way to find out - if it was a one-off."

"Get on to London," replied Hogan, after some thought. "Give them the story, and request authorisation to deal with Staremberg while he's here."

"They won't give it." Kinch spoke in a tired, resigned voice. "The microfilm delivery will have priority. They won't let us take any chances on fouling that up."

"Ask anyway. At least that way they'll know he's in the area." Hogan straightened up. If Kinch's expression was grim, the colonel's came close to matching it. "And if they don't give us the go-ahead, we'll figure something out. One way or another, we're putting the bastard out of business."


	3. Chapter 3

Hogan didn't know it, but he could easily have got the full support of Kommandant Klink for any enterprise, possibly even including assassination, which stopped General Staremberg in his tracks. Klink never said anything - one didn't, not if one valued one's continued good health - but the SS, in his opinion, were beyond the pale. He'd heard things about Staremberg, too, things which made him feel ill. Had he dared, he might have hinted to Hogan about the desirability of keeping some of the prisoners out of sight during the general's visit.

It didn't help when he received a phone call from General Burkhalter, late in the evening.

"Klink," he said, "shut up and listen." Lately he'd taken to saying that at the start of every phone call; it saved time. "I have received a very disturbing report from a reliable source in Berlin. It seems your expected visit from General Staremberg tomorrow may be something other than a mere courtesy call."

Klink felt the first twinge of the irregular spasm in his stomach which always came on whenever a complicated situation got worse. "What do you mean, _Herr General_?"

He couldn't be sure, but it seemed as if Burkhalter hesitated before he replied, and when the general spoke, he chose his words with care. "Staremberg is a man of certain ideas. He feels that the administration of prisoner of war camps by the _Luftwaffe_ is not as efficient as it could be. I understand he is drafting a plan to bring all POW camps under the jurisdiction of the SS, and his visit to Stalag 13 may be in the nature of a fact finding mission."

The spasm got worse. Klink swallowed nervously, and murmured, "What should I do, General?"

"Just observe, take note of anything he says, and report back to me. I have already taken a few steps to ensure that any attempt on Staremberg's part to usurp our authority will meet with opposition at the highest level. But any information you can obtain will be of the greatest assistance. Remember, Klink, if they do take over, you will no longer retain your position as Kommandant. And you know what that means."

_Active service...a combat unit_. The unspoken thought was as tangible as a dead body; both of them were silent as they contemplated the possibility.

Then Burkhalter added with obvious reluctance, "Klink, I am relying on you in this matter. Do not let me down."

"Yes, _Herr General_. I mean, no, _Herr General_," replied Klink miserably. For once, the illusion that he was the General's trusted right-hand man failed to raise his spirits. He put the receiver down, sighed deeply, and went to take a dose of milk of magnesia.

He slept badly, troubled in equal measure by the unrelenting heat, the thought of tomorrow's visit, and the unfortunate side-effects of the dose he'd taken; and he woke up in a dark mood. Every instinct he possessed, both of self-preservation and of simple human decency, prompted him to consult Colonel Hogan, or at least advise him of what might lie in their future, but he knew it was out of the question. And that just made the turmoil in his stomach even worse.

The morning routine normally soothed him. He liked routine, he liked _Ordnung_; it was comforting to have something secure and unchanging in his life. Not today, however. Today it just reminded him of everything he had to lose, if Staremberg put his plans into effect.

_I could end up on the front line,_ he thought, as he strode out of the office for the morning roll-call report. _I could end up lying dead in the snow. _

The North African desert wasn't an option anymore. Just as well; at least he didn't have to worry about being baked. Only frozen.

"Report!" he snapped out, as Schultz came hurrying forward.

_Schultz __won't stand a chance in combat._ Now, where did that thought come from? He was sure he didn't care in the least what happened to Schultz.

"_Herr Kommandant_, I beg to report, all present and accounted for," gabbled Schultz, his face aglow.

Klink cast a look along the double line of prisoners outside Barracks 2. His prisoners, his responsibility, but perhaps not for much longer. His eye fell on Kinchloe, and unconsciously he frowned. If Staremberg were to take personal charge of the _Luftstalag _network, given the stories one heard about him, what would it mean for...?

No. It was no good following any such line of thought. Should it come to that, he'd have plenty to worry about on his own account. He dismissed the assembly and went back to his office. If he had to die a horrible death in a foreign land, at least he'd make sure he got all his paperwork up to date first.

But time passed, and the pile of documents on his desk remained untouched.

He had left instructions with Schultz that he was not to be disturbed. Naturally, Hogan paid no attention to that. It wasn't even an hour before raised voices in the outer office broke into Klink's reverie.

_Not today, Hogan_, thought the Kommandant wearily. He got up and went to the door.

Schultz was obviously doing his best, placing himself directly in front of the door. One couldn't ask for a more effective obstacle; dodging around his solid bulk was just impossible. As usual, Hogan had resorted to talking his way past. He'd do it, too; he always did.

"Hogan, I am very busy this morning," said Klink. "I don't have time for any of your usual trivialities."

Hogan gave him a wounded look. "Well, gee, Kommandant, I know you're a busy man, but this is important. It's about..." He glanced at Schultz, then lowered his voice, "irregularities in the mail."

Trust Hogan to find something which couldn't be overlooked, and bring it up. Klink glared at him for a few seconds before the inevitable capitulation. "Very well, Hogan. Come in. Not you, Schultz," he added. "And keep your ears away from the door."

The Kommandant returned to his chair behind the desk. "Make it quick, Hogan. I'm not in the mood."

Hogan got right to the point. "Okay, Kommandant. I've had some complaints from the men about missing items in the mail. Carter's aunt sent him a pair of mittens, which he never received. He has really cold hands, you know, even in summer. And Newkirk's still waiting for the plum pudding that Schultz seized for inspection."

"Duly noted, Hogan. It will be looked into," replied Klink listlessly. "Anything else?"

"You might at least take some notes," said Hogan reproachfully. "There's more. LeBeau says that some of his letters have even gone missing." He produced a slip of paper, and read off, "From Suzanne, in Rouen; Louise, in Montmartre - that's the artist's model - and three letters at least from Jeannette. You know, Jeannette, the one who...well, maybe you don't know about that. Just forget I mentioned it."

A grunt was the only reply. Hogan waited for more; nothing more came.

"You know, Kommandant," he observed, "I get the feeling you're not really interested."

"Hogan, I couldn't care less about your problems," replied Klink. "I have enough of my own."

"You do seem a little distracted. Is it because of General Staremberg's visit?"

"Who told you about...Of course. Blabbermouth Schultz." Klink threw up one hand. "I'd transfer him to the Eastern Front, if I wasn't afraid of meeting him when I get there."

Hogan, who had apparently been about to start on about the mail again, stopped short.

"The Eastern Front?" he said slowly.

"There, or somewhere else. Who knows?" There, he'd let the cat out of the bag; he might as well do the job properly. "It seems General Staremberg is planning to take over running all the prisoner of war camps. And if he does, that's the end of my desk job."

"Well, sir, you've always dreamed of getting back into active service," observed Hogan. "Up in the wild blue yonder, at the controls of your Heinkel, the Iron Eagle, soaring far above the snowfields..."

He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. Klink would never have admitted it, but a small gleam of hope flickered within him as Hogan pondered. There had been situations before when the Kommandant had found himself peering over the edge of disaster, to be drawn back from the brink when Hogan came up with some scheme or other. So it wasn't surprising that Klink found himself looking towards his senior prisoner of war, waiting for inspiration to strike.

Hogan continued to meditate; opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it; reflected some more; smiled as if he'd come to a decision, and finally turned to the Kommandant.

"If you could just see about the problem with the mail before you go..." he said.


	4. Chapter 4

General Staremberg arrived promptly at three o'clock. Klink would willingly have locked himself in the cooler and swallowed the key, rather than receive the man, but it was never a good idea to offend a high-ranking officer of that particular branch of the service. So the Kommandant polished his monocle, resurrected his most obsequious smile, and went out to greet his visitor.

Staremberg was around Klink's age, but looked younger; a stocky, athletic-looking man. He seemed civil enough, for an SS general. At least he didn't respond to Klink's effusive burblings with the insulting behaviour one came to expect from such men. He gazed around the compound with an expression of interest, or possibly of possessive anticipation; it was hard to tell.

"You appear to have quite a good set-up here, Klink," he remarked, once they were in the office. "Very well laid out, very efficiently organised."

"Thank you, _Herr General_." He knew he would hate himself for it later, but Klink couldn't help preening himself a little. He poured a glass of _Schnapps_ for his guest. "You know, there has never been a successful escape..."

"So I've heard. An enviable record. You are to be commended."

_Maybe he's not so bad, after all_, thought Klink. _Or maybe, when he sees exactly how well this camp is run, he'll leave us alone. _

Hard on the heels of this thought came another. If Staremberg did take over, he'd still need an experienced Kommandant. Perhaps they could come to some agreement...

"Would you care for a tour of inspection, General?" he suggested. That would show him.

The general accepted the offer with apparent pleasure.

It was only natural that the first point of call would be one of the barracks, and Klink knew exactly which one would be most suitable. There were never any problems with the prisoners in Barracks 6; they were on the whole well-behaved. And none of them were...well, they all _looked_ right. There was nobody there whose skin colour might attract adverse attention. There would be none of that kind of unpleasantness. Barracks 6 would be perfect.

Unfortunately, to reach Barracks 6, they had to pass Barracks 2. And of course Hogan just happened to be loitering outside the door, together with that aggravating _Engländer _and the little cockroach LeBeau.

"These are some of your prisoners, Klink?" asked Staremberg, regarding LeBeau with an expression of distaste.

"Yes, _Herr General_. This is Colonel Hogan, senior prisoner-of-war officer," muttered Klink. "Hogan, General Staremberg."

"I've heard a lot about you, General," said Hogan. At least he saluted, although he managed to make it look like a personal insult. Newkirk, loafing in the doorway, didn't so much as look up, but LeBeau glared at the general as if he'd welcome the chance to spit on his grave, and was planning to engineer an opportunity to do so as soon as possible.

Staremberg seemed amused rather than put out. "I wonder how that might be, Colonel Hogan," he remarked.

"Oh, you know how it is, when your life is just a meaningless routine." Hogan's voice remained level. "You get interested in any gossip that comes in. Newkirk, wasn't it a couple of guys transferred from another prison camp who told us about the general?"

"Stalag 8, Colonel," replied Newkirk, gazing off towards the delousing station. His tone and manner were deliberately insolent, and Staremberg flicked a glance in his direction.

"That will do, Newkirk," said Klink hastily. "Go about your business. You too, LeBeau." He'd noticed the glowering hostility on the Frenchman's face.

As the two of them, prompted by a subtle nod from Hogan, went on their way, the Kommandant turned back to his guest. "If you'd like to come this way, General, Barracks 6 is just..."

Staremberg interrupted him. "This is your barracks, Hogan?"

"It's not much," drawled Hogan, "but we like to call it home. At least until the escape tunnel is ready. We're just waiting on the decorator. You can't get good tradesmen these days." It was the sort of thing Hogan always said, but there was something unusually jarring in his tone. It was as if he was going out of his way to be offensive.

"Very droll, Hogan," muttered Klink. Then, with a forced laugh, he added, "He's such a joker, General. Escape tunnel, indeed!"

The general ignored him. "I'm most interested in the facilities for housing - shall we say, guests of the Reich?" He paused for a moment, but as Hogan didn't reply, he went on. "I wonder if I might be permitted to inspect...?"

It was politely worded, mildly spoken, and if Hogan refused, this man might well have him shot, regardless of the rules set out by the Geneva Prisoner of War Convention. Still, Hogan took his time thinking it over, before he smiled. "Be my guest," he said.

Klink gestured to Schultz, who was escorting the inspection party, to go in first.

_Pl__ease, don't let anyone be in there..._

"_Achtung_!" Schultz's voice shattered that hope. With a suppressed sigh, Klink followed the general into the barracks.

The temperature within was at least ten degrees hotter than outside. Klink felt an instant prickly sweat break out of every pore on his body, and it wasn't just because of the heat. There were two men in the barracks. He didn't care about Carter, there was no harm there; but he'd have preferred to keep Sergeant Kinchloe out of the general's way.

Apparently they'd been playing cards; it looked like Carter had the better hand.

Staremberg stood in the centre of the barracks, next to the stove. He surveyed the barracks without comment, taking in the rough construction, the basic fittings, the general air of minimal provision. His gaze fell on Carter, lingered for a moment without interest, then passed on to Kinchloe, who looked back at him with a challenge in his eyes. The general read it, smiled slightly, then turned to Klink.

"Do you have many of these here?" he asked, in a conversational manner.

Schultz's mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened, while Carter turned to Hogan with a startled, disbelieving look. Hogan lifted his head, and his eyes narrowed. But Kinchloe didn't even blink.

"I don't know what you mean, _Herr General_," muttered Klink. It was the nearest he could approach to uttering the protest which rose to his lips. He didn't exactly like Kinchloe, but he had some respect for the man, and Staremberg's directness shocked him. But he couldn't protest. One just didn't, not against the SS. Especially if there was a chance that keeping on Staremberg's good side might mean staying on at Stalag 13.

Staremberg didn't pursue the question. He gave Kinchloe another condescending look, which was met with silent contempt. It seemed to disconcert him.

"Thank you for your courtesy, Hogan," he said. "I won't take up more of your time."

This time Hogan didn't salute. He watched as Staremberg left the barracks, then turned a long, searching look on Klink, who couldn't meet it, but scuttled after the general, with a reluctant Schultz trailing behind them.

"Klink, your prisoners seem a little above themselves," observed Staremberg, as he walked back across the parade ground. "They need to be reminded of where they are." His manner was harsher than it had been.

"General, I can assure you..." faltered Klink.

Whatever he'd been about to offer in his own defence was destined to remain unsaid. From the road which passed outside the fence came a sudden squeal of brakes applied incautiously, followed by the dull thud of metal hitting some obstruction; then a cry of alarm from the guard tower: "_Ein Autounfall! Kommen Sie schnell!_"

The sentries at the gate were staring out along the road. "Schultz, go and find out what happened," Klink ordered fretfully. "General, perhaps we should postpone..."

Staremberg paid him no attention. He strode towards the gate, and Klink had no choice but to follow, growling, "Back to your barracks!" at the prisoners who were coming to gawk.

A small car - a Citroën, from the look of it - had apparently missed the bend, and ended up with its front wheels in the ditch which ran along the side of the road. As Staremberg reached the gate, Corporal Langenscheidt, who had got to the car first, was helping the driver out; a woman, not young, but pretty and very elegant. In spite of the circumstances she exited the vehicle quite gracefully, her hand resting on Langenscheidt's arm. Staremberg gave a startled exclamation, and hurried forward.

"My dear Madame Rochaud, I did not expect to see you here. What an unfortunate occurrence! I hope you are not hurt."

"General Staremberg? I must say, I had no idea you were anywhere near here." She was a little breathless but otherwise composed. "I seem to have taken a wrong turn."

She looked up at the barbed wire and guard towers, with a faint, puzzled frown, then turned to Langenscheidt. "This isn't the Hotel Felsbrunnen, is it?" she asked.

"_Nein, __gnädige Dame_," he replied timidly. "Felsbrunnen is on the main road, twenty miles north of here. This is Luftstalag 13."

"I thought it looked a little less welcoming than I expected." She turned back to inspect her vehicle. "Well, that was careless of me. Now what am I supposed to do?"

She glanced back at the general, then her eyes travelled on towards Klink. She gazed at him for a few seconds, before her features softened into a slow smile of recognition. One eyelid dropped fractionally, just for a half-second. Klink's heart, an organ normally immune to outside influence, suddenly quickened its pace. He knew her. At least, he had known her, once. Many years ago, when they were children, at the Hotel Excelsior in Rosenthal.

_Marie...?_


	5. Chapter 5

Hogan strolled across the compound to join LeBeau and Newkirk, who were watching the encounter on the road with keen interest.

"What do you think, _mon Colonel_?" asked LeBeau.

Hogan pursed his lips in thought. "Not sure. It seems an unlikely place for her to run off the road."

"Nah, it's a dodgy curve, that one," said Newkirk. "Little bit of understeer, and you're right in the ditch before you know what's happened."

"Maybe. What gets me is what she's doing on this particular road. It doesn't really go anywhere except past here." Hogan folded his arms and tilted his head a little. "I'm wondering if perhaps the lady is actually our man."

"Seems a bit pally with Staremberg." Newkirk pursed his lips in distaste at the general's attention to the new arrival. The next moment his eyes widened with astonishment.

LeBeau uttered a startled laugh: "Well, what do you know about that?"

The driver had given her hand to Klink, then kissed him on both cheeks.

"Gee," said Carter, who had arrived just in time to witness this. "She seems like such a nice lady, too. Guess you can never tell, just by looking."

"Staremberg looks about ready to explode," observed LeBeau. The prospect appeared to give him a great deal of pleasure.

"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy." Hogan's eyes narrowed. "It'd be swell if we could make it happen for real. Preferably before he gets his little scheme for the POW camps up and running."

"Colonel, I got an idea," said Carter seriously. "Back in the barracks, I've got the sweetest little grenade you ever saw. I've been saving it for a special occasion. Say we attach a really long piece of string to the firing pin, and slip it into the trunk of Staremberg's car, then tie the other end of the string to the flagpole. He'll drive off, get out on the road, the string will pull out the pin, and five seconds later..."

"Carter!" Hogan's voice sharpened with irritation. Carter fell silent.

After a brief pause, Hogan added, "Keep it handy."

"You've been holding out on us, André," remarked LeBeau. "You never mentioned you had a grenade in reserve."

"Well, my dad told me I should always have something to fall back on. It's a really nice grenade," Carter went on, in a wistful tone. "I hate to part with it, but if ever anyone deserved the best..."

"You know, that's very sweet, Carter," murmured Newkirk. "Slightly disturbing, but sweet. Where you been keeping it?"

"It's in my mattress," replied Carter.

It took several seconds for Newkirk to get his breath back. "You mean I've been sleeping four feet above a live grenade?"

"Well, where else am I going to keep it, Newkirk? You want the goons to find it?"

"I swear, Carter, one of these days..."

The discussion terminated at the approach of a flustered Schultz. "Colonel Hogan," he said breathlessly, "Kommandant Klink wants the prisoners to come and help lift the car out of the ditch, and take it to the motor pool at once."

Hogan shook his head. "Nope."

"Please, Colonel Hogan." Schultz's voice dropped a semitone into a pleading whine. "The lady is an old friend of the Kommandant. He will be very upset if you don't help her."

"Sorry, Schultz. We're not here to provide roadside assistance."

Schultz tried again. "Colonel Hogan, General Staremberg has offered to drive the lady to Hammelburg. I don't think such a nice lady should be going anywhere with him. She says she wants to stay with her little car and see if it is okay. If you won't do it for the Kommandant, please, do it for the lady."

Hogan considered the situation. If the woman was in fact their expected courier, allowing her to leave with Staremberg wasn't so smart. He shrugged, and nodded. "Okay, guys, go and get the car out of the ditch. But it's only because you asked nicely, Schultz."

He followed his men out on to the road, and sauntered up to the Kommandant and his visitors. Neither Klink nor Staremberg appeared to welcome his arrival, but the lady - she was indeed a lady, dainty and immaculate - regarded him with bright interest. She waited for a moment, to see if Klink intended to make the introductions, then as he remained silent, she took the initiative herself.

"It's very kind of you to help," she said.

"Our pleasure, ma'am," replied Hogan pleasantly, with a provocative glance at the Kommandant.

Klink still didn't speak. She glanced at him, and a mischievous dimple appeared. "Willi...?"

_Willi? She called him Willi?_ Hogan's eyebrows ascended, and his lips curved into an incredulous smile.

Klink, brought to heel, tried to compose his features. "Of course. Mar...Madame Rochaud, allow me to introduce Colonel Hogan, senior prisoner of war officer."

Hogan gave a very correct bow, and gazed keenly at Madame Rochaud. She nodded back, studying him with equal interest.

Staremberg was getting restless. "Madame, you shouldn't be standing out on the road like this. Klink, where are your manners? Why haven't you invited Madame Rochaud to wait in your office?"

"Oh, please, General," interjected the lady. "I want to see my car out of the ditch first." She waved a delicate hand towards the Citroën.

Although Schultz was supposed to be supervising, it was obvious Newkirk had taken charge of the job, which meant he gave the orders and kept his hands clean. How he'd managed to get Langenscheidt into the ditch, labouring next to Carter, was anyone's guess.

LeBeau left the work party, and with Schultz following, approached the lady with a deferent attitude. "_Excusez-moi, madame_," he said. "I found this in the ditch just now. I think it must be yours." He held out a soft silken _porte-monnaie_, rather stained by the mud in which it had fallen.

She accepted it with an expression of pleased gratitude. "_Merci bien. Vous êtes français, oui?_"

"_Oui, madame. Et vous_?"

Madame Rochaud responded with a quick shake of the head, and a rapid flow of French which Hogan couldn't follow. Except for one word, which he'd been waiting three days to hear.

The conversation looked like extending for some time. Staremberg interrupted again. "Shouldn't this man be searched, in case he found anything else that he hasn't mentioned? Do you trust these enemy soldiers so much, Klink?"

"Whatever would you search him for?" asked Madame, with an expression of gentle bewilderment. "He seems perfectly honest to me." And again, a sideways glance at the Kommandant, and the hint of a smile.

Klink wavered, obviously torn between the desire to please the lady, and fear of what the general would think. "It's...it's what we do here, Marie," he murmured finally. "Schultz, search the prisoner."

LeBeau rolled his eyes, and held out his arms for the search, which produced nothing. He took the opportunity, while Schultz was between him and the two German officers, to send a quick, almost imperceptible nod in Hogan's direction. It confirmed that Hogan had not been mistaken. Madame Rochaud had definitely spoken the code word: _Perpignon_.

There was a crunching of gravel as the car cleared the edge of the ditch and rolled back on to the road. Carter, still in the ditch, peered underneath, then turned to consult with Langenscheidt. It appeared they were in agreement, and a brief duet followed as they conveyed their mutual opinion to Newkirk. He in turn came to report to the owner of the Citroën.

"Begging your pardon, ma'am," he said, with a vague half-salute, half-tug of the forelock.

_Don't overdo it, Newkirk!_ thought Hogan.

"It don't look too bad," Newkirk continued, "but we'd better take it to the motor pool and have a look at that front axle. Just to be on the safe side."

"Certainly, Newkirk. Please do so at once," said Klink.

Staremberg didn't bother to hide his disapproval. "Klink, your confidence in these men is...touching. But it would be foolish to trust Madame Rochaud's safety to..."

"General, I take exception to that," interrupted Hogan, while Newkirk looked hurt. "I mean, just because we're at war, doesn't mean we can't be nice to each other, right? Anyway, we've been servicing the Kommandant's staff car for months, and he's never had anything to complain about."

_Apart from the fact that it's always in the shop and never on the road._ As his eyes met Klink's, he knew the same thought was in both their minds.

"That sounds perfectly satisfactory." Madame didn't give Staremberg time to renew his protest. "Will it take long?"

"Could be a couple of hours, ma'am," replied Newkirk. "Depending on what we find when we get in underneath."

"In that case, my dear lady, surely you will accept my offer and allow me to drive you to town." Staremberg wasn't giving up.

The lady didn't reply, but turned her eyes towards Klink. He responded almost instantly, though his manner, to say the least, was lacking in confidence. "Perhaps Madame Rochaud would prefer to wait in my quarters until the car is ready."

"Thank you, Willi," said Madame, with an almost sisterly air of approval. "I'd like that. We have so much catching up to do."

So far, so good. Unfortunately, Klink's susceptibility to pressure extended to generals as well as to attractive females. He turned to Staremberg. "If you would care to join us, General..."

Hogan's expression didn't shift; but he noticed the slight movement in LeBeau's shoulder, as the Frenchman suppressed a sigh of exasperation. The last thing they needed was Staremberg hanging around while they were trying to get the microfilm. This was getting trickier by the minute; but it was still salvageable. Hogan raised his eyebrows, and gave a subtle twitch of the head, and LeBeau, interpreting the message correctly, sidled over to the colonel's side.

Staremberg considered the invitation, then smiled. "Very kind of you, Klink. I accept."

Time to go into action. "Okay, LeBeau," muttered Hogan, just loudly enough to be heard by everyone. "I know you don't want to. Don't worry, nobody will make you do it."

"Do what? Hogan, what are you mumbling about?" demanded Klink.

"Nothing, Colonel, nothing at all," said Hogan hastily. LeBeau, picking up his cue, scowled, and scuffed his feet in the dust.

"Hogan, there is something going on. Now, you know you can't hide anything from me. What is it LeBeau doesn't want to do?"

"Aw, geez, Kommandant, don't make me tell you." Hogan's shoulders twitched, and he turned his face away. LeBeau glowered at him, while Newkirk folded his arms, and shook his head. Hogan hesitated, opened his mouth to speak, bit it back, then burst out with a rush: "He doesn't want to cook dinner for your guests."

He noted the sparkle of laughter in Madame's eyes, but she didn't say a word.

Klink, sensing Staremberg's silent astonishment, hastened to explain. "LeBeau is a master chef.. Sometimes, when I have visitors..." His voice trailed off miserably at the look Staremberg turned on him; then, realising Madame Rochaud was also gazing at him, with her head tilted on one side and a smile playing across her face, he took a brace. "Hogan, if I were to request LeBeau's services, it would be in his best interest...LeBeau, if you don't mind..."

"What's in it for me?" asked LeBeau sullenly.

Klink vacillated; Staremberg fulminated; but it was Madame who replied.

"The gratitude of a lady, _mon ami_."

Her eyes were gleaming with mischief. LeBeau, meeting that look, gave a little bow. "In that case, _madame_, it will be my pleasure," he said.

"Klink, this is outrageous," Staremberg broke out. "How can you be sure this man won't poison us?"

The smile on LeBeau's face vanished as if a switch had been thrown. But before he could respond, Madame intervened. "My dear General, don't be so insulting. No French chef would spoil his work by adding ingredients that aren't meant to be there. It's just not done. But if you're really worried about it, why not invite Colonel Hogan as well? That wouldn't be a problem, would it, Willi?"

_Oh, she's good!_ thought Hogan appreciatively.

Staremberg considered the proposition, then smiled. "An excellent suggestion, dear lady. I'm sure that would be sufficient - shall we call it insurance?" He turned to Hogan, his pleasant civility returning. "Would you care to join us, Hogan? With the Kommandant's permission, of course."

Klink muttered something which might have been agreement, and scowled at Hogan, who grinned back at him. "Why, I'll be honoured, Kommandant," he said cheerfully.

She'd done the trick; she'd picked up the ball, run with it and scored a perfect touchdown. Now all they had to do was find an opportunity at dinner for the handover, without being detected by either Staremberg or Klink.

How hard could it be?


	6. Chapter 6

"I don't see why I always have to wait on the table at Klink's dinner parties," complained Carter, pulling on the white cotton gloves he wore for these occasions.

"We don't have a choice, Carter," replied Hogan. "LeBeau will be in the kitchen, and Klink doesn't trust Newkirk around the silverware."

"I have to say, sir, I'm insulted by that remark," said Newkirk. "It's all electroplate, not worth the trouble. I have standards, you know."

"I'll bear that in mind. Okay, Carter, we don't know exactly how Madame Rochaud is going to make the transfer, but we might need a diversion, maybe an accident with the dessert. Think you can handle it?"

"Oh, sure, Colonel. Piece of pie."

"We're not having pie, Carter," said LeBeau scornfully. "We're having cake."

"Pie or cake, if you want it dropped, Carter's your man," observed Newkirk.

"Yeah, he's had a lot of practice," added Kinch, regarding Carter with a smile. Hogan was glad to see it; Kinch had been too grave for the last couple of days. That Mahndorf business had really got to him.

Carter looked as if he wasn't sure whether to be offended or not. "Well, it takes skill, you know. It's not just dropping stuff, it's making it look natural. It's an art."

"And one you've mastered, Carter," said Hogan, putting a hand on Carter's shoulder. Carter gave an uncertain, one-sided grin, as he tried to work out if he'd just been flattered or insulted.

"Couldn't he make it something other than the dessert, _mon Colonel_?" LeBeau seemed a little put out. "I have something special planned, it would be vandalism to spoil it."

Hogan grinned. "Fine by me. Carter, spill the coffee instead."

Carter looked vaguely worried by the amendment, but Hogan had already changed the subject. "LeBeau, did you say Madame Rochaud was a widow?"

"That's what she said. Well, she said her husband was French, but she spoke of him in the past tense, so I guess that means he's dead."

"That might explain why Klink's so interested. And Staremberg,"

LeBeau scowled. "He hasn't got a chance."

"Well, can't blame a man for trying," observed Hogan. "She's available, she's attractive - okay, not young, but neither is..."

"Colonel, what about Staremberg, anyway?" interrupted Newkirk. "We're not letting him off the hook, are we?"

Hogan glanced at Kinch before answering. "For now, unfortunately, we don't have a choice. Until we've got the microfilm, and sent it on..."

"Colonel, you mean to tell us..."

"_Mais, Colonel..._"

"Oh, for Pete's sake, sir..."

Kinch's voice cut across the chorus of protest. "The Colonel's right," he said quietly. "What are we going to do, shoot the man right here? Where does that get us?"

There was a puzzled silence, before Newkirk said, "Well, there's always Carter's grenade."

"And what if the lady decides to accept Staremberg's offer to drive her to Hammelburg?" responded Kinch. "We can't take the chance. You know we can't, no matter how much..." He broke off, looking away.

"We'll get him," said Hogan, after a moment. "Maybe not tonight, but he's at the top of our priority list. There's no way I'm letting him get control of the POW camps. Trust me, guys. His time's coming, soon."

The sombre hush following this was broken when the barracks door opened and Schultz lumbered in. "Colonel Hogan, the Kommandant has sent me to fetch LeBeau and Carter. And he said he would be very pleased if you would join them now."

"He's not usually that keen for your company, Colonel," observed Newkirk, with a doubtful frown.

Schultz lowered his voice, and took on a confidential air. "I don't think the Kommandant is very comfortable with having General Staremberg stay to dinner. Maybe he thinks you might talk to the general, so he doesn't have to."

"I'd rather talk to the lady," said Hogan, with a grin. "Okay, Schultz, anything to oblige."

As they crossed the yard, Schultz turned to the chef. "LeBeau, what are we having for dinner?" he asked.

LeBeau rolled his eyes. "Schultz, for once can't you wait and see?"

Seeing Schultz occupied, Hogan dropped back a little. "Carter," he murmured, "I'm not saying we'll need it, but just in case we do, is the grenade still in your mattress?"

"No, Colonel," replied Carter. "Newkirk made such a big deal about it, I thought I'd better move it somewhere else."

"Well? Where is it?"

"I put it in Newkirk's mattress."

"Carter, are you crazy? There's no way he's not going to notice."

"Yeah, I know. Boy, I can't wait to see the look on his face when he does."

Hogan had to smile. It wasn't often Carter decided to get his own back, but when he did, he made sure of it.

LeBeau had got a little agitated when he realised how little time he would actually have to get this dinner on the table; no time for his usual repertoire of slow-cooked, lovingly prepared masterpieces.

Nobody but Kinch had known what he meant, when he started muttering about _cervelles au beurre noir_, and Kinch had just grinned and said nothing. The plan had fallen through anyway, when LeBeau realised he'd never be able to find lamb's brains at such short notice, not at this time of year.

He was now disclosing to Schultz the results of his deliberation: "_Soupe au pistou_, followed by _n__oisettes de veau aux herbes_, with a vegetable _timbale_. And for dessert, a raspberry and hazelnut _gateau_ with _créme chantilly_."

Schultz almost glowed with eager anticipation.

Klink wasn't nearly as happy as his sergeant. He had been thrown into confusion, from the moment he recognised Marie. Astonishment and joy were still fighting it out with the despair which had held him ever since Burkhalter's telephone call. Added to the mix was a sense of unease - how did she come to be on such close terms with a man like Staremberg?

The general was making a determined effort to monopolise her attention, and much as Klink wanted to step in, he couldn't find the nerve to do anything. In truth, that was why he'd invited Hogan to join them so early. He didn't want his childhood friend talking to that man, and he knew Hogan would be able to cut Staremberg out.

There was so much he wanted to ask her, so much he wanted to tell her, and he was already certain he'd never get the chance, not tonight, maybe not ever.

"It's a pleasure to have you join us, Hogan," said Staremberg, in a cool voice.

"Believe me, General," replied Hogan affably, "the pleasure's all yours."

LeBeau disappeared into the kitchen, with Schultz in anxious attendance, while Carter went to set the table. He'd done this often enough so he no longer went looking for the ketchup bottle, but he still wore a slightly anxious look, and paused occasionally to run through the settings in his mind, making sure he was doing it the way LeBeau had taught him.

With Hogan's arrival, Marie had detached herself from the conversation. She was looking around the room, as if impressing it on her memory. The bookcase caught her eye; she ran her fingers along the spines of the books.

"Now, there's an old friend," she murmured. "_Das Schwäbische Mädchen._ The hours I spent ploughing through that..."

"Madame Rochaud is an authority in the field of comparative literature," remarked Staremberg. "We first met at an academic conference."

Hogan wasn't listening to him. "I gather it's not very good," he said to Marie.

"It's dreadful," she replied frankly. "Really, it's just _The Girl from Kythera_ without the pirates. And without the pirates, what's the point?"

She was leafing through the volume as she spoke, and suddenly she paused. Klink caught his breath; he had forgotten putting the little yellow flower in there, that evening in spring. It was faded now, a colourless, paper-thin shadow. Marie looked up at him, with a sudden bright smile.

"Riemenschneider had no originality," she added. "He borrowed from folk tales as well as Athenian comedies, and he never improved them. This one's just a variation on the Lost Child story, and not a very well-conceived one."

_Ask me about the Lost Child __story, Willi_. She might as well have spoken the words aloud. But it was Hogan who obliged.

"The Lost Child?" he said, with a slow smile.

"Yes, it's a common theme in folk literature. Usually...oh, no, Colonel, you mustn't get me started. There's nothing worse than listening to someone going on about their pet subject." Her eyes flickered briefly in Staremberg's direction, and Klink's spirits took an upward turn. Apparently she found his conversation a little hard to take, when he got on to his own area of interest.

"No, please, Madame," Hogan persisted. "I'm really interested."

Of course he was; just like he always was, when he was making a play. Klink suppressed the thought, and added his own mite to the discussion, certain that Marie wanted to talk, and had good reason for doing so. "Oh, yes, Mar- Madame Rochaud. Please do tell us."

Marie smiled, a curiously wistful smile. "Well, it is interesting, you know. It's such a common story, you find it everywhere. It involves a child - usually a girl - somehow separated from her family, and tells of her attempts to be reunited with her loved ones. There's a fascinating regional variation, from quite near here, around Rosenthal. You've been to Rosenthal, Willi, haven't you?"

Klink felt a tingling at the back of his neck. Rosenthal, where he and Marie had met as children, where he'd made what he now knew was his first, perhaps his only real friendship. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I have been there."

Marie sat down, folding her hands over the book in her lap. "The story starts, as always, with a wealthy man - a merchant, or a nobleman, it doesn't seem to matter much. He had a wife, and two sons. And he went on a journey to a town not far from home, where he met a young woman - a miller's daughter, or a peasant's daughter, something of the sort. Then he returned home, to...well, let's say Leipzig, shall we?" Her eyes were on Klink's face, as he tried to follow the story, picking up the clues as she laid them out before him.

"After some months, he hears from the peasant's daughter. She has a child. A girl." Marie's voice dropped a little in both tone and volume. "The merchant does the honourable thing, and provides for his new family, for some years, but never visits them. Time passes, and hard times come. Business isn't so good, or the estate doesn't prosper. Suddenly our wealthy man is not so wealthy. And he decides he can't afford to maintain an illegitimate child. So he cuts them off. Completely."

There was silence in the room. Hogan was watching the lady with a puzzled look, seemingly aware there was more to this story than she was giving away, but unable to put his finger on it. Staremberg looked at Klink, then back at Marie, his eyes bright with mistrust. Even Carter had become still, sensing something in the atmosphere. Klink almost stopped breathing, as the meaning of the tale began to take shape.

"Things get a bit difficult for our peasant's daughter after that," Marie went on, "so she decides on a fairly bold move. She hears the merchant's wife is travelling to a little town in the mountains, with her younger son. To Rosenthal. So the peasant's daughter takes her own child there as well, intending to make acquaintance with her lover's wife. Once she has done that, she hopes to either throw herself on the lady's charity, or perhaps convince the merchant to take up his responsibilities again, in return for her silence." She paused, then added quietly. "It didn't work out."

"How does it end?" asked Klink, after a long pause.

"For the peasant's daughter? Not well," said Marie. "For her child...well, I don't know the end of her story yet. But I'm sure she will find her family, one day. She really wants to, you know."

She was gazing at him with a look he had never seen on her face, in their brief friendship, so many years ago. A gentle, affectionate look. Klink wasn't a man to pick up subtle clues, but he couldn't fail to understand, remembering what had happened years ago, when his mother had taken him to Rosenthal. Where Marie's mother had claimed friendship with Mamma, until Mamma received a letter, telling her...

_She's my__ sister_. Every other thought was driven from his conscious mind. He'd never imagined... _Marie is my sister, and nobody ever told me._

* * *

Note: as mentioned at the end of Chapter 1, _Das Schwäbische Mädchen_ doesn't exist. Neither does _The Girl From Kythera_. With or without the pirates.


	7. Chapter 7

The evening was going well, for which Klink knew Marie should receive the credit. She was sharing her attention equally between the other two guests, but even Staremberg didn't seem put out at the friendly relations she had established with Hogan. As for the Kommandant himself, he was bubbling over with happiness. Everyone in the world was his friend, even Hogan. Even Carter, hovering in the background, immaculate if slightly ridiculous in white jacket and gloves. Yes, even Staremberg...no. That was a step too far. He put it out of his mind. Nothing was going to spoil this unexpected joy.

_My sister. I have a sister_. He could hardly keep from jumping up and telling everyone. He felt like calling a special assembly so he could announce it to the whole camp.

Hogan was watching him with a curious, bemused expression. He knew there was something going on, but clearly had no idea exactly what it was. Usually it was the other way around; Hogan had something he was keeping secret, and Klink was the one who was confused. The Kommandant almost laughed aloud. It was hilarious. _Fabelhaft_!

He refused to look at the down side; the many lost years they might have shared, and the likelihood that they might not have many more ahead, unless Staremberg's plans came to nothing, or unless the general could be persuaded to keep him on at Stalag 13. Now there was more reason than ever for Klink to hope for that, even if it meant sacrificing the last few principles he owned.

LeBeau put his head around the kitchen door, beckoning to Carter. The chef had taken a shine to Marie, just like everyone else did, and if the aroma drifting in from the kitchen was anything to go by, he'd excelled himself. He whispered a few words in Carter's ear, and disappeared again.

Carter edged over towards the Kommandant. "LeBeau says the first course is ready, sir," he murmured.

"Excellent. Madame, gentlemen, if you please…"

It was no surprise that Staremberg took his seat at the table at Marie's left hand; by some mysterious process, Hogan claimed the chair to her right, with a mocking sideways look at Klink. If he thought it would trouble the Kommandant, he was mistaken; Klink was quite happy to sit opposite. More than happy.

The soup was excellent, although Staremberg made things a little uncomfortable by insisting on exchanging his plate with Hogan. "Just to be sure," he said, with a chilly smile.

"You know, if LeBeau did poison it, Schultz would be lying dead in the kitchen by now," Hogan pointed out, tucking in without hesitation. "But if it makes you feel better, General..."

Over the _noisettes _the conversation turned back to Marie's work. "You must have travelled a lot, collecting all these stories," remarked Hogan.

"Not as much as I'd have liked," said Marie. "There's a whole body of work to do with comparative studies of oral tradition in native cultures. I was just getting interested in it when...well, you know how difficult it is now. I was planning a trip to Canada to research Inuit legends when war was declared, and then when I'd just arranged to visit the United States, your government decided to join in. Of course I know, after the war, but who knows when that will be?"

"You know," Klink broke in, "there are a number of the prisoners who have native blood. Even Carter here is part Indian, or so Schultz told me."

Carter, who had just started removing the plates, went scarlet, as everyone turned to look at him.

"Really? Oh, that's fascinating," said Marie, tilting her head a little. "Subcontinental or American?"

With a self-conscious look at the Kommandant, Carter murmured, "Sioux Indian, ma'am. On my mother's side."

"So there would be stories - traditional stories - that you would be able to tell me?" persisted Marie, hot on the trail of a new research opportunity.

"Well, sure, I guess so." Carter was unconsciously mirroring her head tilt as he thought about that. Then, recalling his duties, he added, "Maybe later, some time. Excuse me, ma'am," and hastily resumed his work.

Klink was delighted. He'd found a way to do something for her. He would make sure she had the opportunity to talk to Carter as soon as possible. He allowed his gaze to wander from her face to Hogan's. Hogan, with just the beginnings of a crease between his eyebrows, was looking at Staremberg. And Staremberg was looking at Carter, and it wasn't a friendly look.

The Kommandant's sense of well-being began to evaporate. Surely the general couldn't have taken offence because Marie had taken a purely academic interest in Carter. Staremberg didn't feel threatened even by Hogan; it wasn't remotely conceivable that he'd see Carter as a rival. But there was something hostile in his gaze as he watched Carter disappear into the kitchen.

A hush of discomfort fell across the table. Hogan was the first to break it. "General, you look like something's bugging you," he remarked.

Staremberg's eyes were now focused on the half-empty glass of wine in front of him. "Madame Rochaud," he said at last, "did you ever meet Professor Fischer?"

"I know of him," replied Marie. Her voice was almost devoid of expression. "I don't socialise in those circles."

"He's done some interesting work in the field of eugenics," Staremberg went on. "Especially in the area of interracial breeding. I've been corresponding with him for some time, and I think his work has a lot of merit."

Under the table, Klink's hands clenched slowly, as he realised what he'd just done.

"I'm guessing he's not in favour of it," said Hogan. His voice remained quite level, but there was a dangerous look on his face.

Staremberg laughed softly, as Carter came back from the kitchen. "Just look at him. He could almost pass for German." Carter stopped in his tracks. Blond hair, fair colouring, regular features; there was nothing the least exotic about him. "That's the danger, with mongrels," Staremberg went on. "So often they go undetected, because you just can't tell."

He turned a cool, assessing gaze on Carter, who stared back, with a confused look that modified into incredulity as he started to comprehend what Staremberg was saying.

"Pardon me for bringing this up, General," said Hogan, "but wasn't there a statement once, from someone fairly highly placed in your government, to the effect that the Sioux were classified as Aryan?"

"Politics, Hogan." Staremberg was still looking at Carter. "At least, so I understand. Tell them what they want to hear, get them on our side, then when we no longer need them..."

"That's assuming they fall for it." Carter spoke under his breath, but everyone in the room heard him. Hogan sent him a warning look, and he flushed again.

Klink, aware that his internal spasm was likely to start up at any moment, gave a nervous laugh. "General, I'm sure that's all very interesting, but...but perhaps this isn't the time..."

"I don't think it's ever the time," interrupted Marie. "And to be honest, General, it's not particularly interesting, either."

Up till this point, Staremberg had taken every reaction - Hogan's anger, Carter's hostility, Klink's embarrassment - in his stride, but he was brought up short by this. He looked at Marie, who was folding her napkin with deliberate care, as if there were nothing more important in the world than making a neat job of it.

"Willi," she murmured, "I should have asked before. How is your mother?"

In the face of such a perfect snub, so beautifully delivered, Staremberg went almost as red as Carter had a couple of minutes earlier. He could hardly show his resentment openly, but if the gleam in his eyes and the involuntary muscular twitch over his cheekbone were anything to go by, he was furious.

It was not looking good for Klink's future employment prospects. And from the cool, detached upward glance he received from Marie, it seemed she wasn't pleased with him, either.

A question popped into his mind: _Well, who do you want to please - Marie, or..._

He didn't have an answer for that, so he sighed, and started telling Marie about his mother's sciatica, a subject guaranteed to occupy quite some time.

The atmosphere remained tense, until LeBeau's _gateau_ made its appearance, and the sheer artistic beauty of it was enough to lighten the mood. True, Staremberg only toyed with his, and Klink's inner workings were still so disturbed that he didn't dare let himself go, but Marie, in the daintiest manner imaginable, polished off her share without ceremony.

"Willi, that was superb," she sighed, as she laid down her fork. "I really must speak to the chef."

"Certainly. Carter, fetch LeBeau," said Klink.

Carter was still very quiet, and seemingly a bit preoccupied. He gave a start, as Klink spoke, then stammered, "Yes, Kommandant," and disappeared into the kitchen. LeBeau emerged a moment later, with Schultz following; Carter slipped past them, and stood awkwardly to one side.

"_Monsieur_, that was the best meal I've had since I was last in Paris," said Marie. "And as for the _gateau_, well,if I weren't supposed to be a lady..."

LeBeau glowed with gratification. "_Merci, madame_. It was a pleasure." He glanced at Staremberg's undiminished portion, and some of the light went out of his face. Klink almost felt guilty about his own lack of appetite, and he had a sudden desire to hide the evidence. Catching Carter's eye, he gestured towards the table.

Quite how it happened was unclear. Marie stood up; her fellow diners immediately followed her example. Carter, picking up the Kommandant's hint, had just started removing the dessert plates. Somehow he managed to get into Staremberg's way, and the general's uneaten portion tipped out of his hand.

It would have been hilarious, if anyone other than Staremberg had ended up wearing that quantity of cake, raspberries and _créme chantilly_. Even as it was, LeBeau gave a muffled snort, Marie suppressed a giggle, and a very peculiar noise escaped from Schultz. But neither Hogan nor Klink was amused, and Staremberg was livid.

And at that point, Carter made things worse: "Oops. Sorry."

Staremberg stared down at the mess on the front of his uniform. "You will be," he said softly.

The movement was so fast that Klink couldn't even assimilate it. One moment they were standing face to face; the next second Carter was against the wall, gasping with shock and pain. Staremberg had grasped his hand, twisting his arm up over his shoulder, rotating the wrist in a direction it was never meant to turn, and bending the fingers back at an angle that seemed anatomically impossible.

LeBeau started forward, but Hogan grabbed his arm. Normally any physical attack on one of his men would have brought a fierce protest from him, but this situation had one additional element: the pistol which Staremberg had produced from somewhere, and which was now pressed against Carter's temple.

_What kind of a man brings a gun to the dinner table?_ The thought drifted through Klink's mind without really registering.

"Close your eyes," said Staremberg. Carter, breathless and as white in the face as a frozen corpse, stared at him, then pressed his lips together and gave a small, jerky shake of the head.

Schultz covered his ears and turned away, unable to watch, and Klink had to fight the urge to do the same. He was aware that Hogan, realising his own helplessness, was looking at him. LeBeau was still trying to free himself, desperate to intervene. There was no point; Carter would be dead before he got within arm's length. Staremberg might even shoot the cook, as well; Hogan, too, although he wasn't usually too fussy about leaving witnesses.

_Please, Kommandant_. The message in Hogan's eyes was so clear, Klink could almost hear it. He looked towards Marie, and she had a message for him, too.

_Willi, don't be such a girl._

An involuntary, barely vocalised whimper from Carter, as Staremberg increased the pressure on his wrist, broke the paralysis. Klink braced himself, and took a step forward. His voice squeaked a little, but he pressed on.

"General Staremberg, as Kommandant of this Luftstalag, I must inform you that I cannot permit you to treat one of my prisoners like this. Please put down the gun, and release Carter at once."

Then he held his breath, and waited for the universe to collapse.

* * *

Notes: Carter's Sioux ancestry was raised in _Drums Along The Dusseldorf _(Series 3).

The statement that the Sioux people were considered Aryan has been attributed to Goebbels, but so far I've only found it reported in unreferenced secondary sources; if anyone can either direct me to a primary source, or in any way clarify the veracity of the story, I would be most grateful.


	8. Chapter 8

Hogan felt as if time had slowed almost to a standstill. Everything had stopped, except his thoughts, which were going at a frantic pace, trying to find some way to save Carter, knowing the slightest move, the slightest sound from him, and Staremberg would pull the trigger.

He couldn't believe Carter had done that. It hadn't even been the final plan; it was the coffee he was supposed to spill, and after he'd become the focus of Staremberg's unfavourable attention, Hogan had tried to signal to him to abort the scheme altogether. Given Carter's usual form, however, it might have been a legitimate accident. One that was about to get him shot.

Hogan had no real hope that Klink would interfere, and yet Klink was the only one who could. And when the Kommandant actually stepped up to the mark, and tremulously took Staremberg to task, Hogan was so dumbfounded that for a moment he wondered if the whole unbelievable situation was just a bad dream.

It wouldn't work. Klink couldn't be expected to stand his ground.

None of the witnesses would ever be able to say for sure how long it was before Staremberg responded. The only measure of time was the sound of Carter's free hand beating intermittently against the wall as if it was somehow channelling away the pain. He still had his eyes open, fixed on Staremberg's, refusing to make it easier for him. Perhaps that was what tipped the scale; perhaps Staremberg couldn't actually look a man in the eyes and shoot him. At all events, the general finally answered.

"Why waste a bullet on him?" he said, and withdrew the pistol. And he let Carter go.

LeBeau broke from Hogan's grip, and flung himself at Carter, who slumped against the wall before sliding to the floor. As Staremberg moved aside, Hogan took a few steps forward, placing himself in front of his men. If the son of a bitch decided to have another go, he'd have to get past Hogan first.

The silence now was almost one of embarrassment. It was broken by a low, almost inaudible plea from Carter: "Don't, Louis. Leave it. Just give me a minute, okay?"

Hogan glanced over his shoulder. Carter had his maltreated hand curled up against his chest; with his other arm he was warding off LeBeau's attempts to inspect the damage.

There was a soft rustle of silk, as Madame Rochaud came to help. "Let me see," she said, in a voice that allowed no refusal. She took Carter's hand and gently removed the white cotton glove. "Oh, dear. It looks quite painful."

"Hurts a bit, ma'am." That was probably one hell of an understatement.

Madame was examining the fingers which had been so brutally forced out of their natural alignment. She transferred Carter's glove from her right hand to her left; then, finding it an inconvenience, passed it to LeBeau so she could bring both her hands to the task.

Staremberg remained silent, his face flushed, as he tried to remove the worst of the mess from his uniform with a napkin. And Klink, who would normally have been trying desperately to regain whatever good graces he imagined he had held, stood immobile and dazed. He had dropped his monocle, and seemed not to have noticed. He wasn't even looking at Staremberg; his attention was fixed on Madame Rochaud.

Then he seemed to come to himself. "Schultz, take Hogan and his men back to the barracks."

It wasn't the time to argue. Hogan offered his hand to Madame as she rose, then he and LeBeau got Carter to his feet. Schultz went first and opened the door for them.

"You go ahead," murmured Hogan. "I'll be a couple of minutes."

He wasn't sure there was anything he could do, but he couldn't bring himself to walk out on Klink now. Schultz seemed about to protest, but LeBeau jabbed him with one finger, and gave him a fierce glare, and he folded, too shaken by what had happened to put up much opposition. Hogan turned back, and stood a few paces behind and to the right of the Kommandant; close enough to reinforce, not too close for comfort.

Staremberg straightened his jacket. "You should realise, Klink, that in a short time I will be returning to Stalag 13 with the authority to impose discipline on the prisoners as I see fit," he said , in a low, harsh voice. "And I never forget an insult. I will remember that man, when I come back. I won't forget your part in this, either."

Klink blanched, and glanced over his shoulder at Hogan, with a kind of panic, then looked at Madame Rochaud. Somehow he seemed to gain a little courage from one or the other, although his voice was slightly strangled as he replied. "General, it's getting late. Perhaps you should return to your headquarters."

_Wonders will never cease. Klink's got some, after all,_ thought Hogan.

Staremberg looked as startled as if he'd just been savaged by a field mouse. His eyes, wide with outrage, travelled from Klink's pallid face to Hogan, and from there to Madame, standing a little further away. Something in her candid, steady gaze, or in Hogan's unconcealed contempt, threw him off balance, and his voice was a little less certain when he spoke.

"Madame, it seems your car is not going to be ready tonight. May I have the pleasure of driving you to Hammelburg?"

"I don't think so," replied the lady. "I don't like bullies, General."

Put in his place yet again, Staremberg drew back. A deep flush of anger darkened his face. Hogan suppressed a sigh. Now Madame Rochaud was probably on the man's list as well, right below Klink and Carter. This was going to take some fixing.

The general didn't say anything more. He sent one long, fulminating look at Klink, then stalked to the door, his dignity shattered as far as Stalag 13 was concerned.

Nobody spoke for almost a minute. Hogan found himself gazing at the Kommandant, trying to fit the last ten minutes into the template of Klink's character that he'd built up over the past couple of years. He couldn't do it. Nor could he make sense of Klink's reaction, now that it was over. No sign of either elation at having outfaced Staremberg, or hysterical panic at the thought of what might follow. Klink just looked as if he'd lost something, and wasn't sure how it had happened.

"Hogan," he said at last, "I told you to return to the barracks." He sounded weary, and he looked as if he had suddenly aged ten years.

Hogan had never imagined he'd feel sorry for Klink. But there was no point in him staying; he was not on the kind of terms with the Kommandant that made it possible to offer any open sympathy.

He saluted, a real salute, for the first time ever. Klink had earned that, for once. But the Kommandant didn't pay any attention.

"Willi, I'm so proud..." The words caught Hogan's ear just before the door closed behind him. He paused for a second, glancing back. Madame had taken both Klink's hands in hers, looking up at him with affectionate concern. She knew what he was in for, all right. But there was an intimacy in the moment which made Hogan feel ashamed of himself for peeking.

Schultz returned just as he closed the door. "Is the general gone?" he whispered.

"For now," replied Hogan. "But he said he'd be back. Schultz, if I were you, I wouldn't go in there just now. Let 'em have a few minutes."

"Carter, where's that bloody grenade?" The words burst from Newkirk just as Hogan got to the barracks.

Carter, who was sitting at the table while Kinch applied a cold, wet towel to the injured wrist, bit his lip. Now was not a good time to admit he'd hidden the thing in Newkirk's mattress. Before he could come up with a way to get out of it, Hogan interrupted.

"It's too late. Staremberg's already left. How bad is it, Kinch?"

Kinch gave him a straight, steady look. "One broken finger, maybe two. I think the wrist is just sprained. But he needs to go to the hospital to be sure."

"Okay, I'll go back and tell Klink," sighed Hogan.

"It was an accident, Colonel." Carter spoke with trepidation. "I didn't do it on purpose, it just sort of happened."

"I know, Carter. Don't worry about it," said Hogan.

Newkirk was pacing the floor in the manner of a caged tiger waiting for the chance to tear into the first keeper incautious enough to come within striking distance. "Colonel, we've got to see to the bastard," he said abruptly.

"Yeah. Sorry, Carter. We should have done something about him earlier."

"Well, gee, Colonel, I don't see how," replied Carter. He looked about ready to drop again.

Kinch leaned back. "What about the microfilm, Colonel?" he asked.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" muttered Newkirk, but at a glance from Hogan he fell silent.

"Well, Madame's probably settled here for the night," said Hogan, rubbing his forehead. "But from the look of things, Klink will be telling her his woes until sunrise. So I don't know how we're going to find an opportunity."

He noticed that Carter was looking shamefaced, and added quickly, "It's not your fault, Carter. The whole scheme was bound to fall apart as soon as Klink spilled the beans about your family background. We'll just have to think of something else."

"I don't think we will, _mon Colonel_," said LeBeau. He had been fussing around the stove, preparing a _tisane_ for Carter. Without thinking, he had pulled a small handful of white cotton out of his pocket. He was now staring at it with an expression of awe slowly dawning on his face.

He held it up between his thumb and forefinger; Carter's glove, the one Madame Rochaud had removed from his injured hand, and given to LeBeau so casually. And as LeBeau now lifted it by the middle finger, a small decorated cylinder dropped out into his hand; a silver _repoussé_ lipstick case.


	9. Chapter 9

"Oh, man," said Kinch at last, breaking the astonished silence in the barracks. "She's a class act, all right."

"I never saw her put it there." LeBeau's eyes were fixed in admiring wonder on the pretty little metal cylinder in his hand. "I was right next to her, and I didn't see a thing. I didn't even notice it was in there when she gave it to me." He held it out to Hogan, then quickly closed his hand over it, and shoved it back into his pocket.

"Colonel Hogan." Schultz had come into the barracks. "The Kommandant sent me to fetch Carter."

Every man tensed. Newkirk took a step forward, but stopped at a gesture from Hogan.

"What does Klink want with him now, Schultz?" Hogan kept his voice calm.

"Klink doesn't want anything with him," replied Schultz. "I'm to take him to the hospital in Hammelburg, to have his hand looked at." Registering the disbelief in the faces around him, he added, "I think it was the lady's idea."

That made sense. "Okay, Carter," said Hogan. "Go with Schultz."

"Oh, gee, Colonel, can't I leave it till tomorrow?" Carter rubbed his undamaged hand across his eyes. "I just want to hit the sack. I'm done in."

"No, better not give Klink time to change his mind." Hogan considered briefly. "Newkirk, you go with him." Hopefully by the time they got back, Newkirk would have cooled down.

"Wait a minute, Colonel Hogan," Schultz put in. "The Kommandant said Carter could go to the hospital. He didn't say anyone else could go."

"But he didn't say they couldn't, right? Right. Now, don't keep them out late, Schultz. No going to the Hofbrau afterwards."

Newkirk took Carter's elbow and pulled him to his feet. "Right, Andrew, let's get you sorted," he said. "After you, Schultz."

As soon as the door closed behind them, LeBeau placed the lipstick case on the table. Hogan picked it up, examining it with care. "Kinch, get the magnifying glass."

He studied the pretty little thing closely. The end was ornamented with three small rings. Hogan slid his thumbnail under the first of them, and the base of the cylinder came away with a barely audible snick. There was something inside the narrow cavity thus exposed. Carefully, with the tip of his little finger, Hogan eased it out.

"One microfilm, as promised," he murmured.

"So now what?" said Kinch "We send it on by the usual route?"

Hogan nodded. "The next through traveller will deliver it to London." He slipped the film back into its hiding place, put the case back on the table, and folded his arms, frowning.

"Colonel, what are you thinking?" asked Kinch.

"I'm thinking maybe we should send Carter with it," Hogan replied. Then, after a pause, "I'm thinking maybe we should even send Klink with it. Staremberg believes in getting even, and he's got them both marked down. I want Carter out of it. And Klink did save his life, so I guess we owe him."

"You'll never get Carter to go without the rest of us," Kinch pointed out. "And as for Klink..."

Hogan grimaced in agreement, and started pacing. "I'm going to have to sleep on this one," he said at last. He started towards his quarters, then turned back. "Kinch, there's a grenade in Newkirk's mattress. Put it somewhere else before he finds out about it. Let's not have any more trouble tonight."

Hogan may have got some sleep that night. Klink didn't.

Even if Marie hadn't stayed, it was unlikely he would have got any rest. As it was, he didn't have the chance to brood over the way things had turned out. There was too much to talk about. By the early hours of the morning, he knew all about her childhood years, her marriage and life in France, and she'd explored his military career, showing no sign of disappointment at where it had ended up. And when Marie had finally fallen asleep on the sofa, he had covered her with a blanket, and had retired to his bed, to lie awake until dawn.

He rose unrested, to find Marie already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. "_Oeufs en cocotte_," she said. "That nice little man isn't the only one who can cook."

She was right; the eggs were excellent, if only Klink had had the appetite to enjoy them. He watched with a touch of wonder as Marie put away a surprising quantity of food. She seemed much less distressed about the previous evening's events than her brother was.

"You worry too much, Willi," she said. "It does you no good to starve yourself, you need to keep your strength up. It will all work out, you'll see. Now finish your toast before it gets cold."

He couldn't share her optimism, but he felt oddly reassured by it, and obediently ate his toast.

The Citroën was ready to go by ten o'clock. Langenscheidt brought it up from the motor pool, and parked it in front of the office. Hogan's men - the usual ones, of course - bustled around, cleaning parts of the bodywork which were already spotless.

"You could stay for lunch," said Klink, as he accompanied her down the steps. He sounded petulant, although he didn't mean to.

"Willi, I'd love to, but I can't. I have to be in Felsbrunnen by midday. Don't pout," she added severely. "I will be coming back. You told me I could talk stories with that young man." She smiled at Carter, who with his right arm in a sling was attempting left-handed to add an additional shine to a gleaming fender.

Hogan strolled up. "Morning, ma'am. Kommandant." He nodded to Klink with his usual insouciance. He didn't seem worried either; but then, when did Hogan ever take anything seriously?

Marie offered him her hand. "It's been a pleasure, Colonel Hogan. Well, not entirely. But I'm sure the company will be better the next time."

Klink couldn't bring himself to remind her that there might not be a next time, if Staremberg had any say in it.

"Hello," murmured Hogan, whose attention had been distracted. A large staff car - Burkhalter's - had just rolled through the front gate. "It's early for him to be out of bed, isn't it?" he added.

_Now what?_ thought Klink. As if things weren't bad enough. He excused himself and went to assist the general as he grunted his way out of the car.

"The old blob of lard looks pretty pleased with himself," remarked Hogan, as the extraction process came to a successful end.

"He does, doesn't he?" agreed Madame. "Is that General Burkhalter? Well, that's a good sign. I wonder..."

She was watching Klink, with an affectionate smile. Then she looked up at Hogan, and the smile turned slightly wicked. "You know, Colonel Hogan, it's just possible that something I did some time ago might have just produced an unexpected side benefit."

"Something to do with our friend from last night?" said Hogan.

She shook her head. "I don't want to say too much, not here. But when you have a few minutes to spare, you might ask yourself why any decent woman would have anything to do with a man like Staremberg. It wasn't for his personality, I can assure you of that."

Burkhalter's approach prevented Hogan from asking for more information. The general certainly gave the impression of being well satisfied over something; he nodded quite pleasantly at Hogan, and regarded Madame Rochaud with approval, although she wasn't young enough to attract more personal attention from the old reprobate. "You have a visitor, Klink?" he asked.

"Yes, _Herr General_. Marie, this is General Burkhalter. Madame Rochaud is my - a friend of mine."

Burkhalter bowed. "Charmed, madame. Please excuse me, I have a matter of some urgency to discuss with the Kommandant. Klink, I will wait in your office."

As he disappeared into the Kommandantur, Klink turned to Marie. "Well..." he began.

"I know, Willi. Duty calls." She put a hand on his arm. "I'll call you soon. I have to go to Heidelberg for a few days, but perhaps on the way back...Colonel Hogan, so pleased to have met you."

Langenscheidt opened the door of the Citroën for her, and the prisoners moved aside as the little car set off. Klink stood quite still, watching as she drove through the gate and out of sight.

Then he sighed, and without a word to Hogan, went into his office.

"Kinch," said Hogan, "I think we could use some coffee."

"Coming right up, Colonel."

The conversation in Klink's office was already in progress by the time the receiver in Hogan's quarters was connected.

"...most unfortunate for Staremberg," said Burkhalter. "It seems when he returned to his headquarters last night, he was met by the Gestapo, and they were not pleased at having been made to wait for him."

"The Gestapo?" Klink's voice wobbled slightly.

"Yes. Apparently our people in counter-intelligence have discovered that certain information was leaked to British intelligence about four months ago. And the information in question can only have come from General Staremberg."

"So that's what she was getting at," murmured Hogan. "She got close to Staremberg to get information."

Burkhalter was speaking again. "Of course, Klink, this means there is now no question of Staremberg's plan coming into effect. He will be far too busy for the foreseeable future. However short that may be. It's most regrettable - for him. For us, of course, it is very fortunate indeed."

"General Staremberg a traitor! I can't believe it," said Klink, in a low, dazed voice.

"A traitor, or a fool, it doesn't matter which. As your American prisoners would say, his goose is cooked," concluded Burkhalter. "Under the circumstances, Klink, I think we may consider the matter closed."

Hogan unplugged the coffee pot. "Looks like it's closed for us, too. I guess we won't be needing that grenade after all."

"So let me get this straight," said Newkirk. "Madame cosies up to Staremberg, picks up some nice bit of intelligence and passes it to London."

"Yep. And a couple of months later, German counter-intelligence find out about the leak, just in time to get Staremberg off our backs." Hogan gave a short laugh. "I guess for once, blind luck was helping out."

"She told Klink she'd be back," observed Kinch. "What do you think that's all about?"

"I doubt it's anything, Kinch," said Hogan, with a grin. "Just part of the act. He won't hear from her again."

Klink had no such doubts. But the following day passed, and there was no call from Marie, nor the day after that. He remained hopeful at first, but when a week had gone by, he fell into despondency. From there it was a small step to a state of cantankerousness which found expression in unusually harsh treatment of everyone under his command. Protests from Hogan, pleading from Schultz, even the reproachful looks cast on him by his secretary, made no impression.

And then the sun came out again, when he got a note in the mail.

_Dear Willi,__ I was called away unexpectedly, and I won't be able to make that return visit for a while. But I'll see you some time soon. Ever your loving sister, Marie._

Folded inside the note was a small, fragile pressed flower.

Klink stared at it for a long while, then carefully folded the note and put it away. In one sense, it was a disappointment, but he couldn't feel sad about it. Somewhere out there, he had a sister who loved him. If he didn't see her again for months - for years - it didn't matter. He knew she was there; that was enough for now.

He put aside his other correspondence, and went out for a stroll across the compound. Some of the prisoners were on litter patrol, and he gave them a smile. "You missed a bit," he said genially. "Here, allow me." And he picked up a stray piece of paper from the ground and held it out to a flabbergasted LeBeau. Then, with another all-encompassing beam, he went on his way.

"Well, I'll be buggered," said Newkirk.

"Make that unanimous." Hogan had joined them, gazing at the Kommandant as he disappeared from view behind the recreation hall. "He seems to have cheered up some, anyway." He folded his arms, a thoughtful frown crossing his brow. "I don't like it. He's up to something," he murmured. "I wonder what's gotten into him."

That, for Hogan, was to remain one of the great mysteries of the war. He never did find out.


End file.
